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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437977">Flower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholy_scorpio1/pseuds/melancholy_scorpio1'>melancholy_scorpio1</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American (US) Actor RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:02:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholy_scorpio1/pseuds/melancholy_scorpio1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spending Valentine's Day with Timothee.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Timothée Chalamet/Reader, Timothée Chalamet/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day had been perfect before it had even begun. </p><p>When you started dating the one and only Timothee Chalamet, academy award nominee (you’d argue that he definitely should have won) you knew what you were getting yourself into. Long days alone when he’s busy doing press releases, months away from each other relying on phone calls and matching time zones, those few months of the year when you barely get him to yourself before he’s off doing his thing again. You knew all this when you started dating him. In fact, you’d become accustomed to it. </p><p>Valentine’s Day came around like any other day of the week. Well rested after catching a rare early night, you stretch and wait for the satisfying click of your limbs before, as you usually would do, rolling onto Timothee’s side of the bed. At this point you’d take your usual inhale of his pillow from his side of the day, admit that you’re missing him more than usual, then get on with your day. </p><p>Only today, you roll over and come instantly into contact with skin. Your heart lurches and you can’t help but release a gasp as you open your eyes and find Timothee, who isn’t actually meant to be home for a few months, fast asleep on his side of the bed. He lies on his stomach with his arms folded under his pillow, a look of content written over his face, and you have to touch him again to make sure you aren’t dreaming.</p><p>You’re not dreaming. He’s there. He’s real. At the lightest of touches his eyes flutter open, and he looks at you like you hung the moon. It’s only then that you realise that actually, he wasn’t asleep at all. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” Ever worried that he may get into trouble, you can’t let yourself get your hopes up. Maybe he’s just visiting briefly before he has to go again. Maybe he’s not staying. You can’t get hopeful like that. </p><p>He reaches forward and hooks his fore and middle fingers under your chin, brushing over your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you completely melt under his touch. “Couldn’t miss Valentine’s with my girl, could I?” </p><p>You can’t resist. You rest on your elbow to move closer to him, and press a well overdue kiss to his lips. He rests his hand on the back of your head, keeping you where he wants you most. You’d stay there all day, simply kissing him, but it seems he has other plans. </p><p>“Come on. I’ve got a whole day planned out for us, let’s go,” You whine when he leaves you, falling back on the pillows and making grabby hands for another kiss. Or any contact, really. You’ve missed him. “I’ll give you a kiss when we’re leaving. As a reward,” With a wink that promises more, later, he leaves through the door to the kitchen. </p><p>*</p><p>Still damp and slightly flushed from the warm shower, fully dressed and smelling beautiful (if you do say so yourself) you’re greeted with the sweet aroma of your favourite breakfast. The table is set, a beautiful bunch of red roses taking centre stage, with two plates of food either side of them. You’re taken by surprise in the most amazing of ways, and you’ve been awake for only an hour. </p><p>“Come on beautiful, let’s eat,” Tim beckons you over eagerly. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out the chair, lets you sit, then pushes it back under. In utter awe and surprise that he’s already put so much effort into the day, and you’ve not even been awake for very long, you rest your chin on the palm of your hand and simply watch him eat. You’ve missed him so damn much. He catches you staring and a light blush coats his cheeks. “What?” </p><p>You want to tell him. Right there and then, you want to tell him how you’ve not stopped thinking about him since he left. You want to tell him that he’s a drug, your drug, and you’re well and truly addicted. You want to tell him that you had withdrawals when he wasn’t there to feed your cravings. You want to tell him that your heart soars when he says the simplest of things, and when he touches you he leaves your skin ablaze. </p><p>But you don’t.</p><p>“How have you been? I feel like… I feel like we haven’t spoken in months, even though we spoke just yesterday.” </p><p>Neither of you notice, too busy with the flow of conversation and the pre-occupancy of eating, that your hands inch closer to one another until they meet in the middle, where everything just automatically falls into place. </p><p>*</p><p>Shopping along Fifth Avenue (you get well and truly spoilt.) Snacking at the coffee shop where your worlds first collided. A quick trip back to your apartment and you’re away again, picnicking in Central Park. As you wander through groups of tourists you often separate, walk around them and reunite, hands slipping into each other naturally. He chooses a spot under a canopy of trees, attempting to maintain an element of privacy one what has already been a perfect day, and digs a blanket out of the cooler back he’d grabbed on the way out. You take a peek inside before he notices, and it seems he came quite prepared with warm and cold drinks (coffee and champagne), sandwiches, strawberries and all sorts of your favourite things to eat. </p><p>Even when you lie beside him, curled up against his side with your head on his shoulder, you wonder how this day could get any better. You stare up at him with such wonder - such admiration - such love - that you wonder what a boy like him sees in a girl like you. He catches you staring - for the second time that day - and pulls you a little closer to his body.</p><p>You insist on having dinner at his favourite restaurant after being spoiled all day. It’s the least you could do - It’s his Valentine’s too, after all. Especially with you not actually getting him a gift, as he wasn’t expected home, you secretly paid the bill while he was in the bathroom. </p><p>Finally, a show to finish off the day. Arm in arm and blissful, you both take your seats in the auditorium and wait for the lights to go down, he pulls out a rose from the inside pocket of his jacket and places it over your knees. </p><p>“For you, m’lady.” A cheeky smile tugs on his lips and he looks awfully happy with himself, as if he totally didn’t steal it from the restaurant’s table while you weren’t looking. It still makes your heart race. It’s the thought that counts. “Wait, wait. I know…” He picks up the flower with one hand and uses the other on your face, moving a wisp of hair and tucking it behind your ear gently. </p><p>Such beautiful eyes. Different shades of green, flecks of gold, staring at you like you’re the thing that keeps him breathing. Your breath hitches and you swear your heart skips a beat as he slides the rose behind your ear. </p><p>“Thank you, Timmy. Not just for the flower - for everything.” </p><p>Then he kisses you. The outside world blurs around you, anything outside the little bubble you are in fades to nothing, and you lose all awareness of your surroundings. Because that’s what he does to you. The hand that held the rose now cradles your face as he kisses you, gently, delicately, as if you’ll break if it gets too rough. </p><p>It takes you a good few seconds to come back down to Earth when he pulls away. When you do, you realise that the lights have gone down and the play has started. You fall back in your seat, searching in the darkness for his hand to hold. </p><p>“I have something to tell you.” </p><p>His breath tickles your ear and you can’t help but jump at the sensation, having not expected his whisper. </p><p>“I came back yesterday, for an audition. An audition for this show, and… They want me  as part of the cast.” </p><p>You kiss him again, and this time it’s not gentle or delicate. It’s rushed and clumsy but it’s just as emotion fuelled. </p><p>“I love you, Timothee Chalamet.”</p><p>The words leave your mouth accidentally, without you even thinking about them or their consequences. You’d barely moved your mouth away from his when you’d said them, but it feels like a massive relief. </p><p>He doesn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”</p><p>He fulfils his promise of ‘more, later’ when you get home, but it takes on a whole new meaning now. Because you love him, which you’d known for a while now; more importantly, he loves you. </p>
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